Reciprocity
by MINDFREAK23
Summary: The third of my Assassin's Creed Rogue fics. More spoilers, so read at your own risk, Shay reverting to an Irish accent (I have no idea why he's channeling Mrs. Brown, I apologise) and swearing like a sailor, and Shay's not the only one roughed up a little in this one... although it kinda is Shay's fault. XD


A crying Shay was something Haytham had never seen before and had no intention of seeing again.

"AAARRGH! Fecking damn it all! Damn Adéwalé, damn Hope, damn that fecking Achilles, DAMN THE FECKING ASSASSINS!"

Were he not so unnerved by the tears and fury Haytham might have laughed at Shay's reversion to Irish slang and cursing. He'd have to ignore the bloodied fists currently being beaten against the brick wall of Shay's quarters at Fort Arsenal first though. Wait, blood. 'Shite. Time to intervene.'

"So much _fecking_ potential, aye, Hope? None of you ever told me that while I was fecking bustin' me arse!" he sobbed. "All I wanted was to know you saw something in me, and you tell it to me on your FECKIN' DEATHBED! RAAARRRGH!"

Not wanting Shay to break anything, Haytham stepped between Shay and the wall, only to find himself seeing stars as the powerful right hook hit him squarely in the jaw and knocked him flat on his arse.

"Oh feck."

Shay slumped to his knees alongside Haytham, reaching hesitantly towards him, as if scared to lay a hand on him.

"Shite, Shay, if I had known you had a hook like that I might have _let_ the wall take that. Help me up?" Haytham grunted in pain and the room spun a little as Shay helped him upright.

"Oh bollocks. I don't think all of that blood's mine Haytham. Let me fetch something to clean us up with."

"Nonsense Shay. We'll go together. Er, once the room stops spinning."

"Feckin' hell did I hit you that hard? Shite." Haytham leant on a hand while hoping it would alleviate the rotation of the room.

"Really now Shay, you kiss me with that mouth?" Shay blushed and mumbled sheepishly.

"I, er, I kind of... I kind of forget not to swear and me accent thickens when I get really angry or agitated." Haytham smirked devilishly.

"I've noticed."

He had also noticed the fine shaking in Shay's arms, and decided it was time to patch the both of them up. Carefully, so as not to make the room spin again, he used Shay to help himself stand and then offered Shay a hand up, making sure not to grab his actual hand, but his wrist. Then they headed to the bathroom, where they procured bandages and cloths, and headed out to the fountain.

"Let me clean up your face first Haytham" Shay said as he wet a cloth under the flow of water.

Dabbing gently against the abrasion on his jaw and the tender swelling of his split lip, Shay asked Haytham _why_ he'd taken the punch.

Haytham thought of making light of it, but could not bring himself to belittle Shay's pain in such a fashion.

"I..." he took a deep breath.

"I couldn't see it anymore. You, clearly distraught, furious, hurting yourself. And you would have, with that last punch, if I'm gauging how hard you hit me accurately."

Shay looked away shamefully.

" _Shay_." Here Haytham took the cloth, rinsed it, and started cleaning Shay's hands.

"I am not berating you, and I do not begrudge you your feelings or how you expressed them. I could not see you hurt like that because it hurt myself seeing you in such a state." Shay chuckled.

"You've killed men without batting an eye, and you couldn't see me cry without hurting."

Haytham looked him in the eye and didn't hesitate to say "Yes."

Shay started fidgeting nervously, as Haytham rinsed the cloth again and started cleaning the tear tracks from his face.

"Shay, look at me. You know I do not say anything that I do not mean. I care for _you_. Seeing you hurt makes me hurt too. I wish you did not have to, but I'm glad you let me see you vulnerable and let me help you." Haytham started wrapping Shay's swollen, bloodied and bruised knuckles.

"There. Now, let us head inside. I think we could both use some food and rest. Definitely rest. My jaw is aching terribly and I can feel a headache on its way."

Guilt flashed across Shay's face.

"Shay" Haytham reprimanded, "I stepped into the punch. Of my own accord. Don't you dare feel guilt over my actions." Haytham went to stand and stumbled, steadied by Shay's hands.

"Come on you. We'll grab something light and then it's to bed with you. You're punch drunk." Haytham simply grunted his agreement, which was enough cause for concern to Shay.

Shay helped him inside, and before grabbing food made Haytham change into a set of Shay's nightclothes. He came back with a tray of food, a small basin of water, and fresh cloths, and when they had finished eating, made Haytham comfortable and laid the wet cloths across Haytham's forehead and jaw to alleviate some of the discomfort.

Gently carding fingers through Haytham's hair, he spoke softly. "Thank you Haytham. For being here for me. It means more than you know."

A sleep slurred voice replied "It means as much that you let me be here for you."

Shay smiled softly as he set a pillow on his chest and rested Haytham's head on it. "Goodnight, Haytham."

"G'night, Shay."


End file.
